by Tom Haase
After weeks of putting up with this captain, the man had signed his own relief from command by crossing the battalion commander. The battalion commander was a leader and Jonathan would follow him anywhere, but all the killing he had seen in the last weeks, all the blood, had made him start to entertain doubts. He loved his time in the army and knew the country required a force to protect itself, but it was time to move on in his life.
“Lieutenant, you’re hit, get on the medivac,” said the Corporal Hoskins, the platoon medic.
Jonathan looked down and saw blood on his leg. He couldn’t believe all the blood he saw and there seemed to be more pumping out every second. The adrenaline of the firefight had worn off and suddenly he felt the pain. His sergeant tried to put a bandage around his leg. The last conscious thought he had on the battlefield was a sergeant reaching for him as he collapsed.
On his return to the United Kingdom, suffering a slight limp he would have all the rest of his life from his wound, he resigned from the army. His right leg was an inchs shorter than his left. Many times he needed to walk with a cane for support, especially in rainy or damp weather conditions. After a few months of recuperation and self-examination, he decided not to return to the intelligence work at MI-5 after seeing war up close. Instead he entered a seminary to determine if God wanted him as a priest. He believed that now seemed like the right time to find out.
* * * *
The beer can fell from his hand onto the floor. Jonathan burst out of his memories. He went to bed but suffered a sleepless night. In the morning, he continued his study of Ponce de Leon, the Crown of Thorns and anything he could find on the Gospel of Peter. At eight in the evening, he met Captain Grossman and told him what he thought the man needed to know.
Chapter Fifty-Two
On board Oceania Cruise Liner Insignia
“I’m getting fat,” Bridget said as they dined on their last day onboard from Barcelona. “I need to start hitting the gym. This lifestyle could kill an elephant from overeating on a cruise.”
“You don’t look any heavier. It’s only been less than two weeks.” Scott laughed.
“That’s not true. My clothes are tighter. I can feel the pounds going on.”
“All you’ve done is eat and work on solving the encrypted location given in the letter. Go to the gym onboard. Take a night off. We’ve made great progress so far.”
“I will and tonight is it.” The on-board fitness instructor came across as delectable eye candy for her. Maybe she might enjoy him this evening.
After dinner, she went to the gym. The trainer stood in a corner of the room doing barbell presses. Lucky for me, went through her mind. I’d like to run my hands over those muscles and see what they could do for me. What would it hurt on a ship at sea?
Besides, she had reached a dead end. Nothing had come to her to unravel the mystery of the message. Not a thing she could relate to had emerged from the text. Total relaxation might give her a fresh insight.
“Hello, my name is Bridget,” she said as she held out her hand to the dark-skinned Adonis of her desire in the gym. She glowed warmth as his eyes feasted on her. The lust emanated from his being. Yes, he would be good for tonight.
* * * *
She returned to her cabin in the morning feeling invigorated and confident. After a shower, she dried her hair and called Scott to go to breakfast.
“I thought you had decided to start going to the gym today. Here you are eating a big breakfast,” Scott said.
“I exercised last night. Now I’m hungry. We have a few hours before we dock.”
She devoured the eggs and bacon and had a piece of toast with strawberry jam. Scott looked at her and laughed.
“Listen, I’ve had an idea,” she said, putting down her fork. “We’re stuck on this code thing and this may be off the mark but we must research the merchant trade in the time of Ponce de Leon between the New World and Spain.”
“Why?” Scott asked, and then asked the waiter to bring more juice for them.
“Well, think about it. The letter contains valuable information. He must have employed a code that someone else would understand. Unlike today, they didn’t possess the ability to send electronic signals that the recipient could immediately decode. Back then, the sender and the recipient had to prearrange the mechanism for decoding the messages.” Bridgett looked at Scott to see if he tracked her thought process.
Scott nodded agreement.
“I believe,” she continued, “some code, limited to a few people or a class of people, must have existed and I think they were merchants; otherwise the abbot wouldn’t have been able to read it if it were a military encoded message.”
She watched Scott for a reaction, but he just stared at her. “My problem is that I haven’t discovered if the abbot had any knowledge of the code. Neither de Leon nor the abbot was a cryptologist, so it seems logical to me that they used a mutually understood code. Ponce de Leon wasn’t even a religious man, so any religious order secret wouldn’t work.”
“So we need to uncover more about this abbot?” Scott said.
“Yes, that’s your job. I’ll continue to search for something the merchants might employ.”
“Why the merchants?” Scott asked as he finished his second cup of coffee.
“Because, without our means of communication, they had only the speed of the ship to deliver messages and it took months to deliver one. So, I think they had a way to transfer information to their equivalent of the corporate office without anyone outside being able to read or uncover the company secrets. I believe we’re looking at such a situation in this letter from Ponce de Leon. He used a specific code, understood by them both in order to tell the abbot the location of the relics and the other items.” Bridgett felt a sense of pride swelling in her for figuring this out.
The explanation made more sense now that she had vocalized it, accounting for some of the items that had baffled her for the last three days. She gave Scott a wide grin.
A night’s excitement could accomplish great things.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Vatican City, Office of the Secretary of State
“Uberto, you did a superb job. A perfect ending. My congratulations.” Cardinal Puglisi spoke into his phone.
“Always a pleasure to please a cardinal of Holy Mother Church.”
“Unfortunately our other person of interest won’t be back for days. I’m off to America to attend a conference and will return at the same time he does. Be ready then and I’ll let you know when. No mistakes,” Puglisi said.
“Have no fear, Diego, I will arrange for everything after his return. My word. Okay if I get one of my boys to bring the bill around to help pay for my current expenses?”
“No problem. Thanks, Uberto. My best to your family. Ciao.”
The cardinal believed everything was now in place. He straightened his Roman collar and walked over to the window. Below, the morning tourists peppered St. Peter’s square. The plaza would someday soon be overflowing with the faithful to greet him as the new Pope. He had to rush to the bathroom where he cursed his ailment.
He believed he would shortly be in possession of the gospel and the Crown of Thorns. Think what it will mean to all of Christianity. Millions might convert to the faith with such tangible evidence; a faith he planned to lead back to the true path and the Gospel of Peter would guide him as the next Pope.
When Uberto finished the job . . . but first he had to get the manuscript and the relics. The world would know his name when he revealed the discoveries. Perhaps he should take a more active role in acquiring them.
Jonathan McGregor possessed the ability to track and recover the items, but it might be better if he directly involved himself. If the Cardinal wanted to be the one taking the credit for discovering the items in the bowels of the Vatican’s Secret library, then he had better retrieve them himself and bring them to Rome. There must be no question of his claim. As far as he wanted the world to know he would be the o
ne to find and announce the great news.
He decided to call Uberto again and get him to hold off on eliminating the Pope until he could announce his discovery. Uberto could finish the task at that time. By this method, he would ensure when the time arrived for electing the next Pope by the Cardinals, and his name would be known by the whole world. He would be named Pope without any competition in the College of Cardinals.
After the call was completed, he started to rearrange his schedule in America to allow for more free time in case McGregor found the location given by Ponce de Leon to the abbot in Granada.
Something pecked at the back of his mind. Yes, there was a detail he needed to consider. He would take care of it when he returned to Rome from America. Uberto would do this for the new Pope. After much thought and despite his own reluctance, he realized that he could not allow Jonathan McGregor to be a loose end. McGregor could always use blackmail against him. The senate was one thing, voting to eliminate the Pope as a group, but after McGregor removed the Donavans, he would be the only link to the entire recovery of the relics, the crown, and the gospel.
McGregor had to go.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Miami, Florida
Two Days Before the Donavans Arrive in Miami
Passing through the sliding glass doors of Miami International Airport, Jonathan felt the sweltering humid heat of south Florida. He hailed a taxi and entered its air-conditioned for relief. Already starting to perspire, he looked forward to relaxing for the evening in his hotel. Tomorrow he would say Mass at the church in Miami Springs and visit with a member of the society.
After Mass, he accompanied Father Jeremy Hodges, the pastor of the church, to a bakery on Biscayne Boulevard in North Miami. There they both ordered cinnamon crunch bagels and coffee.
“I appreciate your time,” Jonathan said as they seated themselves near the front window, away from other customers. The bakery sat in a strip mall and the view allowed him to observe the extensive parking lot.
“No problem. I had never received a call from the Vatican Secretary of State before. You must rank quite high to have such horsepower.”
“It’s only used to get the job done, I assure you. The cardinal is after something and I must procure it. Unfortunately, I can’t say anything about my mission, but I do need a few items.”
“Name them,” the priest said as he took a bite of his bagel.
“First, I need a car from the diocese’s motor pool. An old one will do. I don’t want to rent one here.”
“I’ll arrange everything. You’ll have a car by this afternoon.”
“Next I think I’ll need two handguns and a rifle. Glocks are fine and a .30 caliber with a scope would do nicely with ammo for all.”
“Are you over here to conquer America for the Vatican?” asked the priest with a smile.
“Of course not, but on this mission I’ve encountered some fanatics who have already tried to kill me and I want to be able to defend myself.”
“Was anyone killed?” he asked this with concern in his voice.
“Yes, and the Abbot of Monasterio de Santa Paula suffered serious wounds. Enough said.”
“I know enough contacts to take care of your needs. The weapons will be in the car when it’s delivered. I’ll do everything myself. I’m not about to permit a screw up with a cardinal involved.”
Jonathan returned to his hotel and called Puglisi giving a short report of his arrival and preparations, including praising Father Hodges for his support. Next he went out to buy some equipment he thought he might need including maps: one of Florida, one of Miami, and one of the Interstate routes. At a Publix grocery he bought a case of water and one of high protein bars. He purchased a pair of binoculars with 8 x 40 power at a sporting goods store.
Back in the hotel, he checked on line and discovered the Donavan’s arrival was scheduled for the next morning at ten a.m.
That evening, Jonathan went to the church in Miami Shores and prayed in front of the altar. “Hear my prayer. A prayer from your unworthy servant. This mission for the society is also for you. Your representative on earth is in danger from our order. I have taken an oath to obey the orders of the society. But you know I have another, perhaps higher, obligation. I’m caught in the middle. Give me the strength and your grace to decide what to do and the courage to do the right thing. I ask this in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”
At the conclusion of his prayer, a sense of relief filled him. God’s will, not his would be done. He returned to the hotel and slept soundly. At six the next morning he got up and checked out. The car he’d been loaned was an older Buick with 80,000 miles on it and still held a beautiful silver color. The air-conditioning worked and the fuel gage registered full. With the requested weapons secured in the trunk, taking a hand gun Jonathan was ready to go. He arrived at the Miami pier at eight and waited.
At ten-thirty five, the Donavans emerged from the ship.
Chapter Fifty-Five
On the Palatine Hill
Rome, Italy
Uberto woke up early on the morning the Donavans arrived in Miami. The sun barely came through his window at 6:30 a.m. He congratulated himself because he awoke with an idea for taking care of the job Diego Cardinal Puglisi gave him.
His private cell phone rang.
“Uberto.” The piercing voice of Cardinal Puglisi sounded as if he were in the room with him. “The Holy Father will be returning to Rome in five days. I want you to carry out the plan ten days from today. Understood?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Puglisi abruptly ended the call, leaving Uberto holding the now silent phone to his ear.
Now he had his orders, but he had never tried to get rid of a reigning pontiff. Sure, some nut had shot and wounded John Paul II in an audience at Vatican City but that had nothing to do with the internal workings of the Roman Catholic Church.
Today, he would have to set in motion his plan. He understood it was murder but “eliminate” sounded better. In his youth, carrying out a murder moved him up the ladder, but now he sat at the top, with a wife and daughter, a member of the proper clubs in Rome, and traveling in the best social circles. The perception of the world of Uberto came from his cover as an international import-export consultant, but the support for his lifestyle emanated from his rank in Rome’s underworld.
He descended the stairs to the kitchen and fixed his first cup of coffee. Yes, he had a plan, which would take care of the pope and make sure no one became the wiser. At least Puglisi could prevent any autopsy on an old and exceedingly frail pontiff. A sudden death because of a heart failure would not raise any suspicions. A heart attack provided the answer and he could make it happen. In his opinion, poisoning the pontiff’s evening drink would provide the best scenario with the least risk.
He took his coffee and went into his small home office to research how many popes had been killed, murdered, or assassinated. At least the information would provide him with alternative ideas, but probably wouldn’t reveal any deaths planned in the manner he contemplated, a naturally occurring death shielding the fact it was murder.
The computer provided some interesting facts. He read with interest the stories of papal demises. Five popes were assassinated in office, or deposed and then murdered. The first pope to meet an untimely demise was John VIII in 882. His entourage poisoned him. When the poison did not act quickly enough, those responsible used blows from a hammer crushed his skull and thus he became the first Pope to be assassinated. Both Stephen VII and Leo V were deposed, imprisoned, and strangled. John X was deposed, imprisoned, and suffocated with a pillow. Stephen IX was imprisoned, horribly mutilated by having his eyes, nose, lips, tongue and hands removed, and died of his injuries. Two other popes died in circumstances strongly indicative of foul play: Hadrian III was rumored to have been poisoned, and John XII either died of a stroke suffered while in bed with a married woman or was beaten to death by the woman’s outraged husband. A total of 15 pop
es met violent ends.
Getting this Pope into a woman’s bed remained out of the question. Uberto laughed to himself while thinking about such a scenario for the current Pope. No, a heart attack would be the best way to do it.
He had learned from his own sources some facts about a more recent death of a pontiff that remained unknown to the masses. In 1978 Pope John Paul I was elected by the College of Cardinals. The conservative cardinals soon came to fear his radical reforms. He died a month after his coronation, but the details of his death had never been released. His housemaid discovered his dead body in bed on the morning on which he planned to disclose a Vatican Bank scandal.
The cardinals made sure no autopsy occurred and the documentation exposing the scandal disappeared. Now that sounded more like a modern plan for an assassination of a pope, certainly better than bashing in his head and making him unrecognizable.
Uberto closed the computer and sat back to enjoy his coffee. The successful accomplishment of this task would probably put Diego in position to get the papacy. In that event, Uberto’s fortune would come in. He would enjoy direct access to the Pope and the organization would promote him even higher, a win-win for both of them.
Today he planned to call Giuseppe, a long time underworld friend, to ask a favor and start the process moving. The man would get the poison. Uberto needed to take care of many details to ensure the operation went off without anyone learning the real purpose. If they did, he would need to take care of them after the fact. That always presented problems. His plan used various sources to play small parts with no one grasping the entire scheme, except himself.
The money the cardinal paid would be small, but the future favors would be huge. The power of a pope who knew how to use it was immense. He believed that Diego would be a powerful pope.
